


Once Bitten

by Ezabungles



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (for once), Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Explicit Language, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rutting, Vampire!Daryl, Vampire!Daryl Dixon, cherry picked vampire lore, gratuitous use of drug addiction and withdrawal as analogy, rape trigger words, super fucking fast burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezabungles/pseuds/Ezabungles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon is a fairly fresh Vampire, and has done his best staving off feeding from humans since he turned. One night while feeding, he was interrupted by naiive officer Rick Grimes, and his hunger - or thirst - was diverted. Never had blood sung so sweet for the redneck vampire~</p><p>[This fanfic has cherry picked vampire lore, a combination of resources from ancient folklore, tv shows and movies and books. The main aspect is from the Brian Lumley series 'Necroscope'. It also rips on Twilight. Well, Daryl rips on twilight...]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Bite, First Light

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm sorry to anyone who gets this notification and is disappointed that it's not an update to Precious Polaroid or You Grew On Me, but this plot bunny has been kicking me in the head for ages, and when it got close enough to a full chapter, I decided I had to post.  
> I haven't seen any Vampire Rickyl AUs where Daryl is the vampire, so decided to make my own.  
> Also, to anyone with whom I've been briefly talking about my new 'secret' fic.. this is it xD hope I don't disappoint~

Night patrol was always the pits. It often ended up with Rick and Shane just shooting the shit, drinking cup after cup of coffee in the cruiser until daylight came, and their shift was over. Then there were weekends. They were more eventful, though not what Rick would describe as fun. Bar fights, break and enters, robberies; it all happened on Saturday nights.

It was one particular Saturday night that Rick was distracted. Shane was trying to bring him out of his slump, to no end. Rick and Lori had fought. Badly. She ripped on him for taking these late night weekend shifts when he should be at home with her and Carl. He had explained over and over that it was just part of the job, that he had to take the occasional graveyard shift, just like everyone else.

Lori disagreed, saying that as a family man he should be exempt from such duties. Rick thought he should just do his part. There had been shouting, and words thrown in the heat of the moment that Rick hadn't meant, and he thought Lori hadn't meant either. Maybe. Neither came out of it feeling any better, nor winning the argument, not like it was really an argument that either could win anyway.

So the distraction was somewhat welcomed when they got the call from dispatch. There was some sort of disturbance out on the old Greene farm, a ways out of town. It would take a while to get there, but at least then they would be busy, and Rick hoped Shane would get off his back.

A half hour drive, and Rick and Shane arrived at the farm house, and met with the older man who owned it, Hershel.

"Somethin's gettin' at my herd!" The old man groused, as if it was their fault.

"Aw, come on old man. Ain't it just coyotes or something?” Shane didn't help the situation. He was clearly irritated that they'd been called out past midnight for something so 'minor', in his opinion.

“It ain't coyotes!” Hershel insisted stubbornly.

He'd come across one of his cows earlier in the night, mauled by some beast, and had heard another one in distress just before he'd called the sheriff's department. A brief argument ensued, with Rick eventually sating both other men by agreeing to go check out the field, while Shane took a statement from the old farmer.

Hershel had relucantly given Rick directions to the corpse of his cow, not happy to be left with Shane. Rick couldn't stand either of them as far as he was concerned, so he left the pair of them and headed out to near the barn, where the first cow had been found.

He agreed with Shane on one point; he thought it was most likely just coyotes attacking the herd, so armed only with his flashlight, gun still in his holster, he approached the barn.

It was near pitch black, the dull porch light not reaching the recesses of the field. It wasn't until Rick was already approaching the black shape of the cow carcass, that he realised just how close to silent it was. Surely, he should've heard the chirping of the cicadas, the grunt of the occasional cow, the cluck of a chicken in the henhouse not far.

But there was nothing. He could almost hear the blood pulsing in his ears over the brush of his boots through the damp grass.

As the carcass came into focus, Rick recoiled in disgust. It really _had_ been mauled. Its throat had been torn out with what the evidence of the slashes indicated were likely massive claws. There was very little other damage to the cow than that, which Rick thought was very curious.

Despite the smell of gore that filled his nostrils, burning the hairs in his nose, Rick crouched and leaned in closer to get a better look.

Tendrils of flesh and hacked off arteries spilled from the cow's neck where it lay, broken as if it had been dropped from a great height. Or thrown...

Shaking his head, Rick rolled back onto his heels and scraped his hand down his face with a sigh. He didn't need this. It was really gross, he thought honestly.

Certainly not what he needed on a Saturday night when he was in a bad mood. He didn't need to be covered in cow's blood and—

That was a thought. Where was the bloody pool that should be under and around the cow?

Eyebrows furrowed in thoughtfulness and a hint of morbid curiosity, he leaned in once more. Knees pressed onto the ground and feeling the faint moisture of the night grass seep through his trousers, Rick strained his eyes in the beam of his flashlight, looking for the evidence of a beast attacked by another.

No blood. Or, very little, anyway.

The dark grass surrounding the cow had a faint tinge of crimson, but surely not as much as it should have had, had it been bitten and eaten.

That was another point. It didn't look like there was more than a chunk of flesh at the cow's neck missing. It was getting more and more confusing, and Rick wondered what the hell was going on.

Registering barely higher than his subconscious, Rick heard a sound. It was wrong. The sound was wrong.

In a second he was on his feet, the beam of torchlight grazing over the bushes, and he expected to hear the yelp of a startled coyote, or hell, even any other random small mammal that had been discovered.

But that sound... It had been... Could _wet_  be the right word?

He stepped carefully in the direction from which he thought he'd heard the sound, damp ground muffling his movement on one step, and announcing it on the other with the flick of moisture.

Eyes having trouble adjusting to the jumping beam of light from the flashlight, Rick tried to discern the shapes in front of him. He was sure he'd heard the sound from over there, but it was all just a mass of black.

It was then that he heard another sound. It was like a heavy breathing, slow and deep, unlike his own short, erratic breaths.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and Rick felt the unshakeable desire to leave. No, to _run_. Some carnal instinct within him was telling him that he was not safe.

He shook his head. What the hell was going on? Maybe he _should_ rethink his night shifts, after all. If he was getting all jumpy from some random coyote and a dead cow, maybe it wasn't so good to stay up so late when his mind was so distracted.

He was just about turning to leave, his body shifting to walk back to the farmhouse, ready to notify Shane and Hershel about his inspection of the corpse, when it happened.

He saw – or maybe he _sensed_ , more so – the shape lunging toward him from the dark. Cold hands wrapped around his neck, and his scream died in his throat as the low growl from the _thing_ reverberated through his head...

 

*****

 

Rick walked back up to the farmhouse in a daze. Stumbling a few times on mounds of earth, he finally made it into the wash of porchlight, and was immediately met with an angry voice.

“What the hell were you doin', Rick? Was gonna send out a damn search party for you if you were gone for five more minutes!”

Shane's voice washed over him, barely registering in his mind as he blearily gazed at his partner.

“Coyotes.” Rick replied simply, voice monotone and bland.

“What?” Shane stomped down the stairs in a huff, coming to stand toe to toe with Rick, getting up in his space in a challenging display.

It might have bothered Rick, but he was quite satisfyingly distracted by a curious, nearly startlingly misplaced sense of peace and wellbeing.

“It was coyotes. I found them.” Once again, his voice came out without inflection, like it was practised.

Shane glared at Rick incredulously. Rick nearly scoffed. Couldn't his partner be pleased it was practically an open-and-shut case?

In the end, Shane had given up, and brushed off the old man who indignantly denied Rick's claim of coyotes being the problem. Hershel had promised – or threatened – to have it followed up, but Shane was done with it all by then, and practically dragged Rick back to the cruiser.

Rick allowed his partner to take the driver's seat this time, feeling a bit off. He didn't know what was happening, but his mind was somewhat hazy and unfocused, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to concentrate properly on driving.

“Hey man, what's up?” Shane asked Rick when they were just about back in town, after nearly thirty minutes of silence.

“Huh?” Rick shook his head and brought himself back to the present. He'd been gazing out the window, sagging in his seat as he watched the streetlights zipping overhead with rapt attention as they drove into town.

“Are you alright?” Shane pushed, pulling the car to a stop outside the station; it was better to fill out the annoying paperwork from the call right away, rather than leave it for the morning. Of course Shane obviously thought it was barely worth the damn paperwork at all. “You seem kinda.. out of it, man..”

Rick dragged his attention to Shane, who was staring at him with deep concern, eyes flickering over his slack form.

He _felt_ kind of out of it, too.

“Just.. just tired, I think..” he mumbled, his words slurring over his tongue that felt fluffy in his mouth.

“Looks like it..” Shane muttered. “Well, c'mon. Got some paperwork to fill out.” He spat the words, and Rick bristled.

Shane was killing his buzz. And why the hell did he have a buzz?

“It was fuckin' coyotes, Shane. I told ya..” Rick cussed, though his voice once again took that dry tone that he couldn't help.

“I know, man. C'mon. Paperwork. Now.” And Shane abruptly shut off the conversation as he exited the car. Rick tried to follow, but he had a lot of trouble unbuckling his belt.

Shane waited outside for a while, heavy boot tapping impatiently on the ground before he opened Rick's door with a growl. “What the fuck, man? What's got into you?” he hissed as he reached over Rick to undo his seatbelt.

Rick slapped his hand away, but after he was free from the constraint. He pushed Shane back so he could get out of the car, and when he finally stood, he swayed a little. He glared at Shane as his partner tried to grab his arm to steady him, and began to stalk toward the front door.

He heard the heavy thud of Shane's boots as his partner jogged after him, after the slam of the car door. He felt Shane's hand graze his elbow again and he pulled his arm away with a hiss.

“Said 'm just tired, man!” He growled as he stomped into the building and plunked down in his chair, instantly sagging in it.

Shane glared at him for a while, but when Rick fell asleep in the chair, he shrugged and went ahead with the paperwork.

 

*****

 

“C'mon, man. Up an' at 'em. Time for bed, Rick..”

Rick came to, back in the cruiser, and wondered how he'd got there. Shane had his door open, belt unbuckled, and was trying to drag him out of the car. He could see his house in the distance, and as he watched, the porch light flicked on, and Lori's slim silhouette appeared in the doorway, resting against the door frame.

When it seemed she saw something was wrong, she threw herself forward and ran to them, just as Rick was stumbling out of the cruiser.

“What's wrong?! Shane-” she hissed under her breath, aware that it was not far past two in the morning. “You're home early! Why is Rick...” She couldn't seem to form words adequate enough to describe her husband's condition, as he slumped and allowed his partner to near carry him over to the house.

“Dunno, Lor. It's like he's drunk or somethin'. Dunno what happened.” Shane grunted with the effort, and Rick blacked out again.

 

*****

 

When Rick awoke, he felt like he'd been out for hours, but as there was still no sunlight pouring through the windows of the bedroom – Shane had apparently dragged him all the way to his bedroom – he figured it must still be night. That, or he'd slept through the entire day, which was extremely doubtful, as he suddenly felt full of energy, and not haggard and weak as one does after way too much sleep. He felt like he'd just taken a power nap.

Lori was leaning over him, sitting on the bed beside him and wiping at his forehead with a damp cloth. He swatted her hand away and immediately tried to sit up.

“Rick-” she started, trying to push him back down, but he pulled himself up to a sitting position. Someone had taken off his boots, hat, and gun belt, but he was still wearing the rest of his uniform.

“No, Lori. I'm fine!” He growled, and she flinched and looked up at Shane who he now realised was leaning on the doorjam.

“Shane.” Lori hissed, and he came over 'to the rescue'.

“Look, man. We're just concerned about you. You pretty much passed out on me there. Twice!” He had his hands on his hips, until he let one fly off in a fist like he wanted to punch something.

“I'm _fine_ , Shane. Just got tired. 'M full of energy, now.” Rick sighed, and before Lori could stop him, he worked his way to his feet, sliding out the other side of the bed. To avoid Lori's grabby hands.

“See?” He nearly shouted as he stretched, joints maybe popping a little, but all in all feeling pretty great, until he saw Lori and Shane share a concerned glance and then shush him, before turning in unison to look down the hallway toward Carl's room. Shit. Carl was asleep. “ _See_?” he asked more quietly.

“Was just tired.. Needed a nap, and now I'm fine..” he insisted again, and as he watched it looked like Lori and Shane simultaneously gave up.

“Fine, man. Whatever.” Shane shrugged and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his forehead, like he wasn't really 'fine'. Then he rubbed his head that way he did when he was really irritated, and laid a hand on Lori's shoulder. “Call if ya need me..” He urged to her in a hushed voice.

Lori nodded and mouthed 'thank you', as she laid her hand on top of Shane's. Rick glared at the exchange, and Shane quickly pulled his hand back when he saw the expression.

“Night, Rick. Hope you feel better- uh.. even better than you already are..” he trailed off with raised eyebrows before turning to Lori. “Night, Lor.”

Lori nodded to Shane, and he finally took his leave, quietly trodding down the stairs and out the door, locking it behind him.

“Rick-” Lori started, turning to him and still sitting on the bed, probably hoping to seem non-threatening in his confusing state.

“I'm _fine_ , Lori.” And it was true, he thought. He'd rarely felt better in his life. He stripped off his deputy uniform shirt, allowing it to drop to the floor, along with his badge as he cirlced the bed to her side. “More than fine..” he trailed off suggestively as he leaned in and pushed her down to the bed . He crawled over her, eyes flashing with intent.

“Rick-!” she tried again, but he shut her up with a rough kiss, hands either side of her head as he pressed his body down against her, arousal evident in his trousers.

Lori huffed lightly in response, before returning the kiss, running her hands up and down his sides, even letting out a soft moan as his erection pressed against her thigh.

Rick grinded his hips against her, issuing his own moan at the friction, and he kissed down Lori's neck to her collar bone. Putting his weight on one side, he let his free hand roam down her waist. He slid the hand up under her night shirt – one of his old button ups, and god he loved how she looked in it, all curves and subtle feminine grace and curly brown tresses of long hair falling over her shoulders – and rubbed his fingers along her stomach. Her hips rolled in response to his, pressing against his erection through his pants and he moaned again as he started sucking at her neck.

Just as she was arching her head to the side to allow him more access to her neck, she seemed to jerk in response, and pulled away, smacking at his hand where it had nearly reached her breast.

“Rick! Stop-!” Her strained gasp echoed through the quiet bedroom, and he flinched, pulling back. He withdrew his hand from under her shirt as he took in the look of horror on her face.

“Lori, what's..? What's wrong..?” He asked, his voice husky with his arousal.

God, he'd been getting into it – was already leaking in his boxers – and he was sure she was too. But the look she was giving him just then was like a bucket of water in the face. She was.. not _disgusted_.. but not far from it.

“Rick, you're sick. Or something. You're not well.” She finished firmly, sitting up on the bed and straightening her shirt.

“I'm fine-” he started again, feeling like a broken record, but Lori cut him off.

“No, Rick. You're not. You're just _fucking_ not!” And she stormed the hell out of the bedroom, leaving Rick gazing after her, dumbstruck and speechless. Lori _never_ swore, not if she could help it. When she did, he knew it was a big deal.

What the hell made this a big deal? So what if he had an astounding amount of energy at two am? He'd taken a power nap, and bounced back, that was all..

When Lori didn't return, even after Rick waited like a stubborn husband, he knew she wasn't coming back to sleep beside him that night. As it was, he heard the back porch door open, quiet as it was, and then the telltale flick of a lighter.

She'd never told him she stress smoked, but it hadn't been hard to figure out. It was a hard smell to get rid of. And that was when he knew he'd lost a battle. She was apparently determined to sleep in the guest room, tonight.

So he pulled off his trousers, and threw them in the general direction of the hamper. He thumped down on the bed. He huffed and turned off the lamp on the bedside table, the only light in the room, and pulled the covers over himself, leaving his unattended cock to soften with his frustration.

As he felt the adrenaline leave his body – almost tangibly, like he could feel it leaking from his veins – he felt drained again. He pulled the sheet up around him, then tossed it off, then pulled it back up. His body apparently couldn't decide if it was hot or cold.

He buried the back of his head in the pillow, pinching the bridge of his nose with a scowl. With some slow breathing, his exhaustion took him, and he eventually drifted off to a fitful sleep.

He tossed and turned, wrenching the covers off and on again in his sleep, and one image was recurrent in his dreams: a shadow, rushing toward him in the near darkness out in the field, and then the flash of red eyes, before he was overcome.

 

* * *

 

Miles and miles away, on the outskirts of town, Daryl Dixon was crawling clumsily into the house through his bedroom window. He fell onto the floor, having missed his bed by a mere foot, and the clump of his fall was followed by a loud “Fuck!”

Quick and quiet footsteps sounded down the hall, and Daryl meant to rush into his bed, but his boot caught on the foot of the frame and he slumped face down on the doona, and gave up.

The door snapped open with a loud crack as it hit the wall, and Merle's form blocked out the light down the hall way.

“Tha hell you doin' makin' a racket at this time o' nigh', Darlina? Though' we had ourselves an agreement..” Merle scowled, though obviously he wasn't _overly_ pissed off, because he never used that tone – or nickname – when he really was. Never really got overly pissed off anymore, either. Wasn't safe..

“Was jus' havin' me a drink, Merle. Fuck off..” Daryl's voice was muffled into the covers of his bed, as he couldn't bear to try to lift his head. He heard his brother approach, and sensed the older tower over him.

“Wha', did ol' Bessy and Daisy give ya a struggle? You look beat..” He leaned over and prodded Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl tried to swat him away, but the action was lazy and clumsy, and he ended up letting his hand fall on the bed beside him.

“Nah, bro. They was jus' fine..” he mumbled again, trying to drag himself up he bed and sliding a little on the covers.

“Man, you look drunk, wha' did ya get up to-” Merle had began with a 'tut', but ended up with a sharp gasp. “Daryl, jus' wha' – or who – _else_ did ya have fer dinner...?”

Dang. He'd been found out. Merle always paid too close attention to his diet.

“Mffmm..” he mumbled into the covers, knowing that wasn't good enough, and Merle would demand more, so he heaved his torso up and glared back at his brother. “I had uh... _cop_...” His lips popped on the 'p' of 'cop', and he couldn't help but chuckle at it.

“Ya fuckin' didn't!” Merle growled, advancing on Daryl.

“Oi – fuck off!” Daryl pulled in every tiny bit of energy left in his body and leapt into a catlike crouch on the bed, ready to pounce at the threat. Merle shrunk back. _That's fuckin' right. Ain't no one who can push around Daryl Dixon no more._

“I wiped 'im. It's _fine_.” Daryl growled, his eyes flashing as he rolled his shoulders, almost itching for a fight. “Fucker don't know no better.”

Merle relaxed slightly, seemed to know that if he picked a fight, he sure as hell wasn't going to win it.

“Alrigh'...” he started slowly.

“Said it's fine, Merle! 'Sides, weren't like the pig was in town.. I was out on the farm, jus' like ya told me. Came blunderin' in while I was feedin', like he owned the damn place.” He shrugged and relaxed his stance slightly, falling onto his ass and hanging his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

“Wha's wrong, baby brother..?” Merle prompted, and the older approached and laid a hand on Daryl's shoulder, which he didn't shrug off.

“Bastard tasted _so_ good...” He whined, his tone like that of a near-tantrum child.

Merle scoffed and cleared his throat, gingerly rubbing Daryl's back. “Now when you say _cop_... and _bastard_... and uh.. _he_...”

Daryl jerked his head up and snarled, a throaty growl that rumbled up his throat. Veins throbbed under his eyes and his fangs lengthened, jutting over his lower jaw which hung much lower than normal.

Merle jumped back and scooted up the bed, terrified at the display. After a minute, Daryl calmed down, his face returning to normal and his fangs shrank back into his gums, like normal eye teeth.

“Yes, _Merle_ , it was a fuckin' _guy_. Wanna rouse me some more fer it an' we'll see how that fuckin' goes?!”

He didn't want to scare Merle off like that, but his older brother had been on his case for years about it all. At least now, the older Dixon couldn't take it out on him like he used to. Merle may not be the brightest pencil in the shed, but he knew how to pick his battles. Most of the time.

“Dang, brother, nah I ain't givin' ya shit fer that.” _Not anymore..._ the silent words echoed between them. He crawled off the bed and stepped lightly over to the doorway. “Was jus' hopin' fer a good story 'bout an Officer Busty, y'know?” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, making an obscene gesture with a shit-eating grin.

“Aw fuck off, bro! Ain't no Officer Busty, now scram!” Daryl groaned, and Merle chuckled again and scooted out of the doorway, shutting the door behind him to catch the pillow Daryl had thrown at him.

Daryl groaned again and slumped back down on the bed, pulling his other pillow over and pushing his face into it. He punched the side of the pillow and mumbled at himself in nonsense.

God, that cop _had_ tasted so good..

The flavour lingered in his mouth, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, praying to find a drop he hadn't yet devoured, but it was no good. He was very thorough with his feeding.

The leech inside him didn't allow him to waste anything, not one drop, not when it came to human blood, anyway.

He'd tasted human before, a few times. The first had been Merle, just after he'd woken up from the catatonic state his brother had found him in. The faint voice inside his head had urged him to latch on, and he'd nearly sent Merle unconscious, before he'd snapped out of it.

Nursing Merle back to health, he'd fought a war with the voice echoing in his mind. The sinister voice pushing him and pushing him to take advantage of the older's weaker state, until he had shut it up with nothing but fierce determination. Daryl's loyalty to his blood, his kin, was the only thing that had saved the older Dixon.

But that voice slithered back into his mind, nibbling at his subconscious as he dozed lazily, totally spent.

He felt like he'd just had a great orgasm, could feel the blissful tingling of nerves all throughout his body, causing a cacophony of sensations and feelings, physically and metaphorically.

His body was singing, but his mind was screaming.

 _Go after him!_ The voice said, deep and low within the recesses of his mind. _He tasted so good.. Have some more.._

 _Fuck off!_ He told the thing back, the voice of what he had come to know as the leech. _Guy's got a wife. Probably a kid.._

Daryl had seen, had stalked the cop all the way home. He told himself – and the leech – that he wasn't checking to see that the guy got home safely in that dazed state, only that he was wanting to know where the cop lived, so he could arrange another 'snack'. The cop with the tastiest blood he'd ever had in his life. So good, he wasn't sure he could ever tip another damn cow for as long as he drew breath.

It was dangerous, he knew. The leech in him knew what it was, and informed him so.

 _Addiction_.

Just one taste, so _how_ the hell was he addicted to some asshole cop's blood already?

Information started leaking its way into his brain from the leech, but when phrases such as 'turn him' and 'soul mates' and 'forever' snuck in, he swore right back at the leech to shut the fuck up.

He turned his mind back to the cop, the handsome cop with the bright blue eyes that had the smallest speckles of green around the iris, that likely only Daryl had ever noticed, given his enhanced sight. Bright blue eyes, and that curly hair that had been exposed when Daryl had knocked his hat off.

And then the leech made one last push of information. It could produce an egg, to turn someone. But only once. Ever.

Daryl shook his head because he didn't want to be thinking about lifelong commitments and turning some poor sod who had a wife and maybe even kids whom he loved.

Didn't want to think about making someone else spend the majority of their life in the dark, fighting the urges and sneaking around draining cows.

The small amount of metamorphosis he'd managed had been cool, though. Had right near shit his pants the first time his fingers had morphed before his eyes, and his brother _had_ shit himself.

That was the first and last time Merle ever actually got on his case about wanting guys, since he'd turned.

_Turned..._

He tried to think back on that night, tried to remember it.. He'd just been hunting like he normally did, tracking a boar that was proving to be almost as difficult to find in the woods as he himself was.

Then he'd come across it. It was like a huge toadstool, sticking up out of the ground, and as he'd approached, _leaning_ toward him. As he'd crouched down to get a closer look, the damn thing had exploded in his face in a cloud of spores, some of which he'd inhaled.

After a minute of sneezing and snorting, he'd been struck by an unimaginable pain, his every nerves on fire, and a screaming echoing through the woods which he'd later realised must have been himself. Then – black.

Merle had found him unconscious, had been drawn by the screams.

The screaming – that had been Daryl's body's reaction to the leech beginning to take form within his body, attaching to synapses and nerves and nesting itself deep within his body.

_Was drown to your power. You were worthy._

Daryl shushed the leech's voice, growling back his own _Ain't powerful. Ain't nothin' but a worthless archer._

 _Soulmatessssss....._ The voice hissed before finally fading.

Daryl groaned again into the pillow, as if it, in its fluffy, duck feather filled, home made form, was the reason for his agony.

Truth was, he wanted to see the cop again. Wanted to taste him again, but also _taste_ him. His lips, his skin, not only his blood. Wanted to see _Officer Gorgeous_ 's pupils dialate with the pleasure he suddenly knew his bite could bring..

 _I thought you were fucking off!_ He shouted to the leech, in his head. He only gained new knowledge when the thing was active, and he hadn't known that his bite could bring a sense of euphoria, much like the one he himself was experiencing from the flavour of the man's blood.

 _Shit_... He muttered to himself this time, and he forced his body to calm down and prepare for sleep.

Really, it was too early for sleep. There was still time before dawn, a few hours. And it wasn't like the sun affected him too badly. God, the first time Merle had asked if he was gonna catch fire or fucking _sparkle_! Daryl had just about killed him there, growling _“Ain't no fucking Edward creepy stalker fuck face you shit cunt!”_

Merle had shrunk back in fear as Daryl's fangs popped out and his face got all bloody and veiny and his jaw had lowered way too far...

But he pushed those thoughts aside as he toed his boots off lazily, letting them fall with a clunk onto the floor. He pulled his blankets up over him, patchy and frayed at the edges.

And as he closed his eyes for the last time before dawn, all he could see were those powerfully bright blue eyes, the rough line of a heavy jaw with a cleft chin, and under that chin a vein pulsing heavily along stubble covered skin...

 


	2. Second Bite, Dark Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! Sort of. Well, frottage and rutting and sexy tiems and MOAR BITING~!
> 
> ((Also sorry for the terrible chapter names xP))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it~
> 
> Again: promise I'm not abandoning my other Rickyls. I just need some fast burn Rickyl to make up for my other slow-ass burns. Fast burn Rickyl is good for the soul, sometimes, I feel... Idk xD
> 
> ALSO (EDITED): Be aware for rape/non-con in this chapter.

When Rick awoke, he had a bad taste of cotton mouth and a morning wood that wouldn't quit. Both thanking and cursing that Lori had apparently made good on her silent threat of sleeping in the guest room, a solid half hour of cold showering did nothing to soften his painful erection.

He ended up relieving himself under the stream of water he'd given up and turned warmer, bracing against the cubicle wall as he jerked himself off. Moaning through gritted teeth became too loud, and he bit down on his lip to quiet the noises he couldn't stop making as he stroked himself from base to tip.

Blanking his mind, he wondered why the image of his wife naked wasn't doing anything for him. The pressure didn't build, despite his furious ministrations. Thinking of nothing but his impending pleasure did better, and as he stroked and thumbed his slit, spreading the pre-cum down his shaft and he finally felt his release on its way.

Grunting with his efforts and nearly getting frustrated with how long it was taking instead of enjoying the sensations, he wrapped his fingers around the head, rubbing the ridge between that and the shaft and an image – or a memory, until now repressed – burst into his mind.

He could feel the cold hands wrapping around his throat as a sharp pain struck his neck. Pleasure washed over his body, soaking him in the ferocious embrace of the shadow with the red eyes, and he finally came, spraying over his hand and his belly as he gasped and nearly whimpered at the relief that flooded him.

He had to brace the other arm against the cubicle wall, couldn't quite hold himself up and he felt spent, more so than he'd felt in a long time. His shoulders heaved with his heavy breaths, and his legs trembled as he panted under the warm flow of the water.

Rick didn't know where the hell that image had come from, or why it had worked, but he shrugged it off. Maybe it was from some sex-filled thriller he'd forgotten he'd watched.

After a few more minutes of basking in his bliss, he finally washed himself off, and stumbled out of the shower. Ten minutes later, dried and dressed and freshly shaven, he felt composed enough to go downstairs and see what his wife and son were doing with the day.

Turned out he didn't get to see his son at all. Lori had suggested he go over to a friend's house. Rick wondered if it had something to do with the 'condition' she suspected he had. Truthfully, he thought it was a surprise she hadn't called him a doctor, and insisted he immediately go back to bed. As it was, she ignored him just about the whole day.

He passed the time doing odd chores around the house, finding himself full of energy again, not pausing to marvel where it came from, just enjoying it. Come evening, he found himself sitting in front of the TV, mindlessly flicking through the channels, until he wandered onto the adult section.

They were all pay per view, so he didn't purchase. Instead, he wandered into the kitchen and found Lori at the counter, preparing vegetables for dinner. He watched her for a while, moving about the kitchen and not noticing him.

When she was over in front of the sink, he sauntered up to her. Brushing her hair off her neck with a smooth movement, Lori jerked a little at the surprise touch, arching her head to the side as he brushed his lips over soft flesh there.

“Rick..” she breathed, dropping whatever it was she was holding into the sink and pressing back against him.

“Hi there..” Rick whispered with a grin against her neck as he slid his hands around her slim waist, pulling her harder against his body.

She turned in his grasp, biting down on her lip gently, took his face in her hands, and her expression fell.

“Rick..” she breathed again, almost in a gasp. “Honey, you look terrible..”

He scowled and wrenched his face out of her grasp, pulling away with a hiss. “I'm _fine_. Why won't you believe me?!”

Lori sighed angrily, grabbing the hair at the top of her head the way she did when stressed.

“Because you're _not_ fine, Rick.” She chastised, but he'd had enough.

He turned tail and stalked right out of the damn house, grabbing his keys on the way. He jumped into the sedan, and peeled away from the house, and off into the fading light of the evening.

Hissing through his nose in his stress, he drove around aimlessly for a while, not quite sure what he was doing. After about an hour, he found himself at a bar, nursing a beer and feeling miserable. The haze of the bar messed with his head, and he started getting dizzy. Pissed off that he was already so pissed after just one and a half beers, he stumbled out, thinking he'd better just get home.

Making it outside in one piece, he had to lean against the wall for a moment. He went to take another swig of his beer, but just smelling it almost caused bile to rise up in his throat, and he tossed it into the dumpster around the side of the bar, ever conscious of littering.

“Ya look a bit beat there, man..” Came a slick drawl from behind, that made the hairs on the back of Rick's neck stand up.

“God I fucking _wish_ people would stop saying that!” He hissed, turning around to glare at his stalker.

The man was hard to discern in the dark alleyway, and suddenly Rick was concerned about his carelessness, stumbling drunk – and how was he drunk after so little, really? - alone, behind a bar. He bristled, and reached for his hip, but of course he wasn't wearing his gun belt. Wasn't on duty.

A low, throaty chuckle came from the man, and managed to snake its way into Rick's head, reverberating around between his ears and his entire body started trembling. With fear, adrenaline, he didn't quite know. He watched blearily as the silhouette reached up to take a drag of a cigarette, smoke issuing from him in a billowy cloud.

Rick started stumbling out of the alleyway, determined to get back into the vision of other people, even if just so he had some backup, in case the man in the leather vest decided to take advantage of his surprisingly intoxicated state and mug him, or something..

Before he could cross the invisible line the man drew across the alley, however, an arm raised and blocked his progress, catching him across the chest.

“Hey-!” Rick growled, thrown off balance by the grasp, and suddenly the man was up in his space.

“Calm down, man. Ain't gonna hurt ya.” The man breathed into his face, all dark bangs and eyes hidden by shadow, surrounded by a waft of cigarette smoke.

“Fuck off then!” Rick cursed, but he felt stunned in place, like a deer in headlights. He couldn't move, could only look into the shadows hiding the man's eyes.

The man took another draw of his cigarette, blowing it out to the side from pursed, thin lips that quirked up on one side. In his periphery, Rick saw the glow of the cherry fall to the ground, and then before he knew it, he was pressed up against the alley wall, an arm braced over his chest and the man's nose at his throat.

Rick's entire body froze. It wasn't quite a fight or flight response; he physically wasn't able to do either. His hands were pressed against the wall, fingers splayed across the brick. Head arched to the side, thinking he would be compliant at least until he knew what this fucker wanted, he heard the guy sniffing – _sniffing?_ \- at his throat, felt the gush of hot air through nostrils against his neck.

“Ain't gonna hurt ya..” the drawl muttered, and Rick felt the smooth velvet of soft lips and the mild tickle of facial hair against his flesh, brushing from his collar bone up to below his ear, and around the front of his throat at his Adam's Apple. It was like the guy was scenting him or something creepy as fuck like that.

His blood started rushing through his veins – and the man seemed to whimper with pleasure at that, or maybe it was longing – and then the blood rushed straight _down_.

 _God fucking damnit!_ he thought, as his dick began to harden, without his permission, and for the third damn time that day. There he was, pretty damn sure he was about to get raped in a damn alleyway, and his body _wanted_ it.

In his work, he'd seen that. Read reports and statements, all of the victims whimpering and sobbing that their attacker had said that they had _wanted_ it, just because their body responded without their consent.

He never thought he'd _be_ one of those victims...

And then the soft brush of lips returned to the hollow of his throat, and the man kissed him. _Kissed him!_ Right there against his neck, an arm still braced against his chest, and the other slid down his arm in a soft caress.

“S-stop!” Rick gasped desperately, his body still unwilling to obey his wishes to try to push the man away.

“Ain't gonna hurt ya..” it came again, that promise, that _lie_ , soft lips brushing against his neck with again that small tickle of facial hair against his own smooth skin. “Jus' relax..”

 _Oh god-_ Rick's breath caught in his throat. There it fucking was—

'Just relax'. 'Just let it happen'. 'It'll be over soon'. All of the whispered words he'd ever written down in a damn report that a rapist had used to console their victim. And his dick still betrayed him, straining against his fucking jeans.

“ _Oh god.._ ” the man echoed his thoughts, and Rick didn't think that even 'God' could save him now.

Finally something happened, something changed. And not for the better, in Rick's mind.

He felt the man's lips part, buried in the hollow of his throat, and – _oh god_ – and then the sharp stab of pain in his neck, blinding him. Unable to pinpoint exactly what was happening, he could only determine that maybe the man was stabbing him, white hot agony plastered over his neck as he tensed against the attack.

“S-stop..” Rick tried again, his voice strained from his pain. “ _Please_..” came out in a small, broken whimper, followed by a wince. “ _D-don't kill me.. please.._ ”

The pain lessened in his neck as the man pulled away a little, whole body nearly as tense as Rick's, heaving with deep, stuttered breaths.

“Ain't gonna kill ya!” The man assured him with a low growl, voice like gravel and tar, face still buried in his throat. “Ain't gonna hurt ya..” It was like a mantra, repeated over and over and drilling Rick with the _honesty_ of it, despite the fact that the man _was_ hurting him.

“ _Hurts.._ ” Rick managed to gurgle out, his face clenched in the pain. The sharp stab of the pain had begun to fade, but he remembered vividly the sensation in his neck, and once again wondered if the man had stabbed him there, and if so, how long it would take him to bleed the fuck out. As it was, he felt a trickle of something wet down his neck.

“Shouldn't. Won't.” The man grunted. “Not if ya relax.”

The lips returned to his throat, brushing lightly over the spot where he'd felt the agony.

“I don' wanna hurt ya, I promise ya..” And Rick was once again struck by the pained _honesty_ in the man's voice.

Every instinct he had told him it was true, or at least that the man _believed_ it to be true. He could feel no sting of lie to pacify him, no haze or hesitance in the man's voice to indicate he wasn't sure. The man _was_ sure.

“Jus' relax, an' it won' hurt..” The man whispered against his neck, pressing a soft kiss into the flesh.

So Rick tried to relax, to release the tension in his body. He didn't feel like he had another choice. He knew it was still going to hurt, thought the man was likely going to stab him again. But if the man thought he was going to comply, maybe a guard would be dropped, and a weakness would be displayed, and Rick could orchestrate an escape. As soon as the ability to move returned to his damn limbs, that was. His hands were still hanging by his side, hands splayed against the brick of the wall against which he was pressed.

And then there was pain again, but dull this time, and as soon as he released the muscles that had tensed up instantly in shock, it was no longer painful. It was just – pressure. Pressure in his neck, and instead of feeling like he was being stabbed, he felt like the man was just giving him a hickey or something.

God, he shuddered at the thought of returning home, to his wife, with a damn hickey on his neck. At least he could say it wasn't welcomed. Practically being raped in an alleyway sure as hell wasn't welcomed.

And then he lost himself, because it started to feel _good_. He began to relate the sensation in his body to how he felt when he got a blowjob. It'd been ages since Lori had gone down on him, sucked his cock and let him roll his head back in pleasure with his hands in her hair, and even longer since she'd done it with any sort of enjoyment. He'd forgotten what it felt like.

But there, in the dark alleyway, pressed against the wall by a man in a leather vest who smelled strongly of cigarettes, Rick thought he could finally remember.

His mind clouded with pleasure, and he shut his eyes and just allowed himself to _feel_. His solo romp in the shower that morning felt like splashing water on his face, compared to jumping off the top of the waterfall that was the feeling of the man sucking on his neck. And with that realisation, a small, shuddered moan issued from between his lips.

Before Rick could draw another breath, the man answered with his own moan, a deep almost guttural sound of longing and yearning and pleasure. Then the arm holding Rick against the wall eased off, the hand sliding over his chest and fisting in his t-shirt, just above his navel.

The man shifted position, and suddenly hips were pressing against Rick's, and he became immediately aware that the other man was aroused as well, because a leg slid in between his thighs, and he could feel the erection pressed against his leg.

He couldn't bring himself to care anymore, care that it was a man pressing against him, who had promised not to hurt him, and was sucking on his neck and it just felt so good that he arched into the touch and moaned again.

It felt like he was drunk, or high – though he didn't know what that felt like, but he guessed it would feel very much like how he felt at that moment – that the world was simultaneously spinning, and disappearing, that the earth was dropping around him and the man sucking on his neck, leaving them as the last two beings on the whole damn planet and he moaned again, more of a whine of pleasure and need, and he couldn't care less, or be less ashamed because his whole body from head to toe was tingling with sensations and he _fucking loved it_.

And the man moaned along with him, low and gravelly, more of a grunt than anything else, and then the thigh between his was rubbing against his crotch and stimulating his dick in a way he felt like it hadn't been in years – or fucking _ever_ for that matter – and then he was finally able to move his limbs.

Instead of trying to push the man away _like he should_ he pulled the other closer, hands enclosing around the other's hips and pulling them harder against him. The man shifted in his grasp, and the leg between his was gone and he nearly whimpered at the loss, but then he tugged again at the man's hips and they were aligned with his, and that aligned their erections, and then the man was rutting against him, moaning muffled by the press of mouth against Rick's neck and Rick's moans weren't muffled, and he keened into the darkness and closed his eyes, clenched them tight and whimpered as the man's hips rocked against his and rubbed their cocks together.

He realised that the man's hand was gone from his shirt as he felt fingers brushing through his hair, tangling into his curls and grasping, tugging, pulling his head back, and he rolled with the movement, allowing himself to be _manhandled_ and the other hand _how many did the man have_ slid around his side and up under his shirt. Calloused fingers dug into his back, holding their bodies closer together _if that was possible_ and the man kept rutting against him and his breath hitched in his throat and he felt like he might orgasm right there, with the stranger pressed against him and sucking on his neck in the dark alleyway behind the fucking bar and again he felt like he _couldn't care less_.

Then with another deep, needy moan – from which one of them he couldn't tell – the man's lips disappeared from his neck and his skin felt _wet_ like it was saliva or _blood_ and he felt the man lick at his flesh, a long tongue sliding from the crook of his neck to below his ear and the rutting never stopped as he felt his earlobe tugged into a gentle bite and he whimpered again because it felt _so fucking good_.

Breathing became harder and shallower and Rick felt even closer to release, closer to coming in his jeans and the hand in his hair slid down the other side of his neck _the side that hadn't been abused_ and with calloused fingers curled around his neck a thumb swept across his jawline and _over his lips_ , tugging at his lower lip and pulling it down, and Rick finally opened his eyes again when the lips left his ear.

The man was gazing at him _hungrily_ with swollen lips, parted and panting, and he could finally see the other's eyes, and he wondered how in the hell they looked to be dark blue and _bright red_ simultaneously as they seemed to devour him, ravage his flesh like those lips had been doing a moment ago, thin lips framed by light facial hair, and Rick memorised them, imprinting them in his mind like they were the most important thing he would ever witness.

The man's furrowed brows over squinted eyes almost hidden by dark brown bangs _the most important things in the world_ was all he could see, all he could hear and feel except he could feel the man pressing against him, _rutting against him_ and his cock was leaking in his jeans and with the man staring at him he felt closer than ever to his orgasm.

And then the man did something more terrifying than he'd done so far _more amazing_ and closed the gap and crushed their lips together and Rick didn't register that he should be fucking ashamed and angry that a man was kissing him. He only registered every single detail he could draw about the man and the exchange. Cigarette. The smell filled his nostrils and the flavour filled his man as the man's tongue slid along his lips, parting them, and plunging into his mouth to curl with his. And he met it, his tongue dancing with the other man's, smearing the flavour of strong cigarette into his mouth as if he had been the one smoking, and then the metallic tang of something else, something he couldn't quite place.

He couldn't be bothered trying to place it, because the man had rutted against him again and moaned into their kiss as Rick moaned right back and slid his hand up under the other's shirt and dragged his short nails down what he had expected to be smooth skin but instead caught on ridges of flesh that felt wrong but the man had just bitten down on his lower lip and so his hands dropped to the other's hips and held tight, rocking his own hips finally in response and almost too late because he moaned louder than he had that night – possibly ever before – as he came, spilling in his jeans against the man, and with fingers in his hair.

The man's hand had disappeared from under his shirt and was cupping his face to match the other, and he'd been caught up in another _passionate_ kiss with tongues fighting and teeth nearly clacking with the roughness of it all and the other man shuddered against him barely a second after he did, hips rocking with another deep moan followed by a small gasp until the other finally spilled in his jeans.

The kiss softened, almost becoming delicate as the two men rode out the bliss of their orgasms, still pressed together but unable to move without a sharp hiss because they were too sensitive, but each also as unwilling to break apart as the other.

Rick didn't know how long they stayed like that, stayed pressed against each other with the other man once again kissing down his neck, and feeling like the dampness in his jeans must be spreading to the other's because of how close they were, but he didn't care, only wanted to hold the one who'd given him so much pleasure.

And he was floating, floating in his bliss and in the freedom of his mind as he arched his head to the side to allow the other easier access to his neck which allowed the lips to brush farther over his skin. Rick clung to the man, fingers curled around skinny hips and holding them together on top of the cloud he could fucking swear they were drifting.

“Rick..” He breathed, needing to come back to reality, needing to ground himself in something as simple and every day citizen life normalcy as a fucking name. “I'm Rick..”

“ _Daryl.._ ” Came the muttered reply from the man, and his name was _Daryl_ the man who had sucked at Rick's neck and rutted against him was _Daryl_ and the man softly kissing his neck was _Daryl_.

 _Lori_.

Another name came bursting its way from his subconscious, smothering him in responsibility and guilt and the shame that he should have felt much earlier, and Rick tensed in the man's – _Daryl's_ – grasp.

Daryl seemed to sense it, and immediately pulled away, and Rick whined at the loss of his lips on his neck. As Daryl turned to leave, completely disentangled from Rick's body, Rick reached out and grabbed the other's arm, fingers curling around a bicep that felt strong and firm and muscled under the long sleeved shirt.

“Wait—“ He pleaded, and the man – Daryl – seemed to melt under his touch, but didn't look back his way. “C-can I see you again?” The words tumbled from his lips before he could wrap his mind or tongue around them, before he could even consider the implications of what that could mean, and the fact that he actually meant them.

Daryl still didn't turn, didn't move, stood still as a statue in Rick's grasp. “Ya.. Ya wanna see me again...?” The voice sounded unsure, so unlike the confident drawl that Rick could have sworn he'd heard before.

“Yes.” He answered simply and confidently, because despite the fact that they'd met in a dark fucking alley with hushed words and muffled moans, despite the fact that his wife was waiting at home and thinking he was sick or something, despite the fact that he was still very fucking married to said wife, he knew without a doubt in his mind, without a moment of hesitancy, that he wanted to see this man again. Daryl.

Already at the limited contact, Rick felt the creeping sensation of distance, a pain in his chest physically eating away at him from inside, all at the thought of not being near Daryl. It scared him. Fucking terrified him, more like. But the thought of being away from the man for too long scared him more.

He didn't know what it meant. It didn't feel soft and calm like the gentle caress of love like that which he felt for Lori.. It was more like a restricting on his physical body, like every breath he took away from the other would be more and more laboured until he just couldn't breathe anymore at all. Like every step he took away would cause him to tumble to the ground and just slump where he fell, waiting for the earth to open up and swallow him.

Like he was addicted to the man that he'd known for an hour – or was it a lifetime? Felt more like it – and that he would experience severe withdrawal symptoms. Being away from Daryl terrified him even more than that thought.

“Good.” Came the low growl from Daryl, bringing Rick back to the present as the other finally turned, and pulled him into another heated kiss, all tongue, and hands in hair and raking down backs.

Rick closed his eyes and moaned into the rough kiss and Daryl pressed him back against the wall and grabbed his hands, joining them at the wrist and pushing them above his head against the brick. For a moment it was passionate again, violent and needy, until it wasn't. It was tender and sweet and gasping and Rick didn't open his eyes as Daryl pulled away and released his hands, slowly letting them fall.

He felt Daryl's hand cup his face again, run a thumb over his swollen lips, pulling the lower down and letting it pop back into place. And then the touch was gone. He reached out, wanting to curl his hand around the other's neck and pull him back, but as Rick's eyelids fluttered open, he grasped at thin air.

Daryl was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you feel about Rick's new addiction? How do you think Lori will react when he comes home? God, will Rick even be _able_ to go home? Yes.. The answer to that one is yes, but with great difficulty.  
>  Anyway! Comments give me life and legit help my muse. Also suggestions and 'what ifs' are very welcome! Thank you! <3 -hugs all o' ye-


	3. Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the alley romp for Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick's POV. Much Lori bashing - from both author _and_ Rick's POV...

How Rick got home, he'd never know. He felt like he was floating the whole way, drifting in the subtle cool breeze that was his bliss from the brash, heated encounter with the man – Daryl – in that damn alleyway.

Streetlights blurred in his vision as he drove home, somehow managing to make it safely despite his desperate distraction, his mind still back there, pressed between the brick and that man..

Hell, his jeans were still damp from his orgasm. That made it more real, more like a memory and not a dream. That, and the painful clenching in his chest as the distance between him and Daryl extended. Well, he assumed as much anyway, as it felt like there was a noose around his heart, that tightened with each mile as he drove through town.

He felt high, drugged up. Vision distorted and his reactions clumsy, he was glad as hell that the drive was uneventful, that he didn't have to regret driving .. drunk..? He shouldn't have driven. That was all he knew.

Still reeling that he'd made it home safely, Rick ducked around the side of the house after quietly pulling into the driveway. He heard movement in the house, signs that Lori – or Carl, if his son was even home yet – had heard his arrival. He was just around at the back porch when he saw light flood the front lawn.

He circled around and took a seat on the back patio, reaching into the gardening toolbox and pulling out the packet of cigarettes from Lori's stash. Lori's voice wafted over him through the dark, calling his name, just as he was lighting a cigarette.

“I'm out here.” He finally answered, happy to have let her stew for a while, and wondering where that vindictiveness came from.

Thankfully, he was still feeling quite euphoric when Lori came around the back, a deep frown etched on her features that dropped the moment she saw what he was doing.

“Rick?” She asked, like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

“The one and only..” Rick mused, like really though. Who the hell else would it have been?

One arm rested over his stomach, the other elbow on his wrist and the hand with the cigarette hovering in front of his face. Crossing his leg over his knee and sitting in the dark helped to hide his embarrassment, though he was almost too blissed out to care. Almost.

“What are you doing out here..? Where were you..?” Lori asked, walking slowly over to the bottom step of the patio.

Rick took a draw of the cigarette before he answered, blowing the smoke in her direction, and even managing not to cough. He hadn't smoked for years, though he and Shane used to do it a lot when they were young teens, rebelling against their parents' rules.

“Out.” He answered simply, enjoying the flash of irritation that crossed Lori's features.

“Out?” She repeated, paused on the lowest porch step, and the indignation was very obvious in her expression and entire posture. The moonlight washing over the backyard assisted in illuminating Lori, while keeping Rick fairly well in the dark under the patio awning.

“Yes – out.” Rick took another drag of Lori's cigarette, blowing the smoke in a cloud between them.

“Rick, what's got into you? What's going on?” She took another step up the stairs. “Talk to me, please..”

“Not really in the mood for talking.” He took great pleasure in using small, clipped sentences.

Lori studied him for a moment, testing his resolve and trying to find a weak spot to grab onto and pull him back into her comfort zone of control over him. Apparently she didn't find one.

“Fine.” She said in that way that women said it meaning that everything was anything but fine. "There's a plate in the fridge for you, seeing as you missed dinner. I'm going to bed.”

It was then that Rick wondered exactly how long he'd been out. It couldn't have been very long really, could it? His perception of time passing was skewed from his mysterious encounter.

He watched in silence as Lori dropped her shoulders in defeat, clearly realising he wasn't planning on opening up about his evening. Feeling like he'd sooner stub out the cigarette onto his bare palm, he felt a victory when Lori finally climbed the rest of the few steps and disappeared into the house, slamming the door behind her.

After he finished his cigarette, Rick wondered when his patience for Lori's shit had dissipated, and figured he could probably pinpoint it to her second refusal of his advances earlier that evening. Besides, he'd had a much more satisfactory encounter out behind the bar.

He'd almost wonder if he had imagined the whole thing, if it weren't for the damp patch getting cold and uncomfortable on his boxers. It was very real. Scary and exhilarating, and real.

After he finished up his smoke, and took another satisfying moment of vindictiveness at stubbing it out in the planter box of one of Lori's favoured flowers, he finally went into the house. Ignoring the plate in the fridge, he stalked up the stairs to the bedrooms. He took a moment to open Carl's door, and was pleased to find his son sitting up in bed reading a comic book.

“Dad?” Carl asked, setting aside his comic and sitting up in the bed. “Haven't seen you all day – how was work last night?”

“Fairly uneventful. No exciting stories, unfortunately. Sorry, son.” Rick replied with a soft smile and a little chuckle.

“Oh.” Carl frowned slightly before continuing. “What's going on with mom? She was.. weird today.. She _insisted_ I go over to Patrick's all day. Had to leave even before you got up..”

“It's nothing to worry about. Did you have fun with Patrick?” Rick tried to steer the conversation away from Lori's irritating behaviour.

“Guess so. We played Xbone all day. He's got the new Mortal Komb— um fighting game..” Carl cut off before finishing the title of an adult game he knew he wasn't allowed to play.

“Xbone..? God, what will they think of next?” Rick grinned, indicating Carl wasn't in trouble, earning a small sheepish smile in return. “Anyway, school tomorrow. Try to get to sleep soon, okay?”

“Sure.” Carl seemed brighter when his dad didn't tell him to go to sleep right away, that he was allowed to stay up reading his comic for longer. “Goodnight, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, Carl. Goodnight.”

Rick closed Carl's door and headed off up the hallway to his and Lori's bedroom. She was already in bed like she threatened, turned away from the door. He didn't disturb her as he grabbed a change of clothes, despite knowing she definitely wasn't asleep. The tense position of her shoulder indicated as much. She had obviously waited for him, and was also obviously waiting for him to say something.

He slipped into the en suite without a word, and took a shower. He had the water warmer than normal, but still not quite as hot as Lori always preferred. Wanted to warm his skin, not scald it.

As he began to wash himself, he contemplated touching himself, stroking through to what he thought might be another amazing, glorious orgasm. But even as he washed his finally not so sensitive dick, he was struck by a curious hesitance. He wanted to save it for seeing Daryl again. Wanted to feel the other man pressed up against him again, feel Daryl's hand and mouth on him. He just hoped he'd have the chance.

Daryl had agreed to seeing him again, right? Then Rick realised that hadn't actually been agreed upon, that he had confessed his desire – his need – to see Daryl again, and it had simply been acknowledged with a kiss. Then a disappearance.

As he dried himself off and headed off to the guest room without sparing his sleeping wife a glance – he couldn't bring himself to sleep next to her – he ached for the other man's presence. Ached for his proximity, his touch, his lips to Rick's neck again.

Settling down in the bed and preparing for sleep, he finally realised that he had actually, legitimately, cheated on his wife. He was an adulterer. But she'd done it first, so he wasn't really in the wrong, was he? He still felt guilty, either way.

But Lori hadn't reciprocated – or even acquiesced to – his last two attempts to make love to her, so he'd felt pushed away. Pushed into the arms of that beautiful, mysterious man. Daryl. The name repeated in his mind like a mantra, or a prayer, or a summon. But Daryl didn't come to him. Hell, the guy didn't know where he lived.

God! Rick didn't even have Daryl's phone number! He was pissed off that he hadn't secured anything about the man other than his name, but it had felt so surreal, so magical that even the concept of asking for the man's phone number was such a foreign concept it was laughable.

He would find Daryl, he decided. He didn't know how, but he would. It was with that firm determination that he drifted off to sleep, dreams once more full of a lurking shadow with red eyes, though this time they had a tinge of deep blue within.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!! Short chapter, but I've been working on this one intermittently for the last few weeks and I wanted to bloody well post something already! D8 I'm gonna try to get up Daryl's POV of that evening after the alleyway in the next few days, but no promises, sorry! Bit of angst upcoming in the next chapter or so, but can you feel Rick's addiction to Daryl already? And what comes with addiction after taking a hit and the buzz wears off...? ;D


	4. Animal that I have become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl leaves Rick - sort of - and gets himself home, reeling from his 'encounter' with the beautiful cop. Discovers a new vampire thing he can do, with an interesting result. Some Daryl/Merle angst, a horrifying epiphany, and some serious self-loathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some cool new vampire stuff here, body metamorphosis 8D (also I love Daryl, and then Merle's reaction to it, and I'm sure you guys will too!) - graphic description of the metamorphosis, btw - might squick some people!  
> Daryl pines for Rick a bit, Merle (and you guys) learns a bit more about 'the leech', and Daryl tries to keep him from his drugs - very subtly, until it's not so subtle xD.  
> And then a very sobering moment after a particularly brutal epiphany. 
> 
> Warning of a flashback of sexual assault, in the 3 big italicised paras near the end.
> 
> Big fucking thanks to [Sheenaz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/pseuds/MermaidSheenaz), without whom this would have probably sat in my drafts for _another_ month! D8 So thank you my dear, my beta, and my lovely friend.

Much like Rick, Daryl marvelled that he made it to his destination safely. He felt like he was flying all the way, but perhaps that was because he'd opted to take the scenic route, leaping across the rooftops like the majestic beast he was finally starting to believe he was.

He'd taken his departure from the cop with a huge jump, landing silently on top of the roof of the bar in a cat-like crouch, the movement missed by the other man due to his eyes being closed. Heart thumping with adrenaline and his euphoric bliss from his romp with the beautiful cop, Daryl had watched as the man below regained an amount of composure, and finally staggered out of the alleyway.

Somewhat worried about the man's condition, the vampire followed at a distance to make sure the other made it home safely again. He was halfway across town, watching Rick's car and totally consumed by his guard duty, before he realised he was enjoying the hell out of travelling by rooftop.

He'd never really done it before, not for this long a distance at least, and thought he'd probably never walk below on the streets again, if he could help it.

Sobering up slightly, he crouched on top of Rick's neighbour's house, watching the exchange between the man and wife, a possessive growl building in his throat at the thought of the woman's hands on her husband.

He didn't care about their marriage, not at that moment. Rick had said he wanted to see Daryl again, hadn't he? The wife mustn't have been very good to him if he wanted to see again the man who had seduced him behind a bar in town.

The vampire watched as the wife went inside, then Rick a while after. He felt like he was inside the house, beside Rick. Could sense the man's movement inside, hear the conversation with the son. And then almost feel the rush of water over Rick's body as he took his shower, and Daryl longed to be in there with him, pressed against his back and sucking on his neck.

But the leech should be satisfied, as he had already had his hit. Rick's blood was singing in his veins, lighting up the whole dark world. Damn. The leech had said that Rick could get addicted to his bite, to his venom, but it hadn't warned about the sheer potency with which he could become addicted to the other's blood..

When Rick was finally settled in bed – and not with his wife, Daryl noticed with great pleasure – the vampire finally took his leave. He'd only intended to ensure the cop made it home safely, not stalk the damn guy. He wasn't a 'sparkly ass creepy stalker' like that movie vampire Merle sometimes teased him about, when the older Dixon had a bit too much confidence, or alcohol – or whatever else – in his system.

Daryl took the rooftops home, gliding with huge leaps and landing so gently that any dwellers of the buildings wouldn't suspect that anything heavier than a possum or squirrel had landed on top. Each leap that took him farther from Rick felt like a heavily weighted step, despite his lithe movements. Felt like he was stepping into mud or quicksand that was pulling him down deeper into a trap, into a dark place from which he would never surface.

Attributing it to simply moving farther from his new favourite feeding source, he plunged on, and before long he was on the outskirts of town, not far from his and Merle's house. Wanting to make as graceful landing or even moreso than those on the previous rooftops, he leapt of the final building with great precision.

It was like his body knew what he wanted to do, what he needed to do, and it changed. Or the leech changed it for him.

As the momentum from his leap had him flying through the air, his arms twisted and morphed. He could feel spines growing from his elbows and wrists, spreading into great wings, and he was like some huge misshapen bat.

It felt akin to dislocating his arms, but in each socket simultaneously, every connection of bone from his shoulders to his fingertips disconnecting and lengthening, and new joints forming. But there was no pain. He almost felt numb, as though he was high on morphine or vicodin or valium or whatever else Merle had shoved down his throat over the years, high and mumbling about 'a good time'.

A bubbling spread over his skin as it stretched and slid over disjointed elbows and wrists and knuckles, smoothing down thinly over bone. He heard the fabric of the sleeves of his jacket tear as he grew, and he didn't care. Daryl's new form allowed him to glide much farther than he'd planned, and as the wind caught under his wings he flew over his house in earnest.

A mad grin decorated his face because hell, for the first time in a long time, he was having fun. Real, honest to god fun. He was flying through the air like an eagle and as he flapped – fucking flapped – his wings, and by dipping one lower than the other, he found he could steer himself quite easily, and even maintain height.

The cool air of the Georgia evening his his face, stinging his eyes and he even wondered for a moment if he might catch a bug or two in his mouth it was open so wide with that grin. Luckily, no such fate befell him and after probably ten minutes of twisting about in the air and even racing a scared shitless owl for a bit, he finally landed. He had a bit of a dilemma about just how exactly he should try to land, but he managed to drop to the ground quite gracefully.

The cheer of success that erupted from his throat however, was drowned out by Merle's shout of surprise – the older Dixon had been lazing on the back porch, and had witnessed only a giant twisted shadowy shape dropping out of the night sky before him.

Before he could process that sound, Daryl heard another – the great echoing crack of a shotgun cocking – and he looked toward the house to see a very drunk, very high, and very scared Merle looking ready to shoot him.

“Merle!” He cried out, trying to shrink down to seem less threatening, because he couldn't quite figure out how to make his wings turn back into arms, and he didn't know if a shotgun round to the chest would kill him or not. Still, his voice came out relatively normal, and he saw his brother's eyes widen so much he thought they might pop out of the man's skull.

“D-Daryl??” Merle stuttered, dropping the barrel of the gun by less than an inch, imperceptible to anyone but those with the keen sight of a vampire.

“Yeah bro, it's me.” If Daryl sounded a little pissed off, it was because he was; Merle was kind of killing his buzz.

It was better than any drug high his brother had ever forced him to experience. He didn't know if it was because of the blood he'd drunk, his post orgasm bliss, or the excitement and satisfaction of his metamorphosis and flight. Maybe it was a little bit of everything.

Merle lowered the shotgun in earnest, and in fact seemed to barely refrain from dropping it entirely. Daryl took a slow step toward the house, and when Merle did nothing but start a little at the approach, he walked over and then up the steps, and into the dull light coming through the screen door.

“Fuck!” Merle swore, the shotgun hanging loose in his hand, the other reaching up to rub his eyes like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and that was probably the truth.

“Didn't know ya could do that..” Merle breathed, his shaky gaze taking in Daryl in his entirety.

“Me neither..” Answered Daryl, glancing down to his wings with furrowed brows. He just wanted to have arms again. The way his hands had turned into giant claws made it kind of hard to consider opening the door.

Even as he thought it, as if by command of will alone, his wings began to withdraw, shortening into a much more familiar length. Once again, all along his skin he felt a bubbling, like his flesh was boiling as it receded, the spines from his elbows and wrists shrinking into the joints, and he wondered where the fuck all that bone went.

“Was fun as fuck though..” Daryl smirked, inspecting his ripped jacket sleeves absentmindedly, fiddling with the torn fabric that now exposed his arms. When he looked back up, his brother's eyes had widened even farther, if that was even possible.

Merle sort of whimpered, sinking back down onto the deck chair he had previously occupied. Fingers curling around the fabric arm rests, the older Dixon seemed lost for words, until he found some.

“I dunno if I can handle this, baby brother..” Merle trailed off, releasing the arm rests to scrape his hands down his face. “'S too weird..”

“How d'ya think I feel, huh?” Daryl scowled, his buzz entirely broken from Merle's reaction. Even his face tingled with his irritation. “If it's weird fer you, how d'ya think I felt when I grew fuckin'  _wings_  bro?!”

Merle's gaze snapped up to his face, glazed eyes widening with fear again, and Daryl raised a hand to his face and confirmed exactly what it was that had his brother looking at him in such a way. His fangs had lengthened, and he had that veiny mess under his eyes, raised in ridges on his skin.  _Fuck off_  , he told the leech in his head,  _this ain't the time!_

He could almost  _feel_  the smug concession of the being that shared his mind. He hadn't realised he had looked away until he felt Merle's gaze burning into the side of his head, and these days he never knew whether it was simply his senses, or the damn leech telling him such a thing. He turned to look at Merle, seeing his brother scrutinising him as his facial muscles relaxed, fangs returning to their normal length.

“Yer.. talkin' to..  _it_.. ain't ya'?” Merle asked carefully, as though he wasn't sure it was a subject about which he was in fact allowed to ask. “Or.. thinkin' to it, or whatever..?”

Daryl quirked an eyebrow, his lips pursing together. Merle wanted to talk about this shit,  _now_  ? He was  _so_  not in the mood. Well, he hadn't been ten minutes ago. Now, well, he didn't even know what kind of mood he was in.

“Yeah..” He answered finally, sinking down into the deck chair beside Merle's. He reached out to his brother, who flinched slightly at the approach, almost making Daryl scoff. “Oi - gimme one o' them.” He pointed to the cooler beside Merle, who exhaled slowly and handed him a cold beer.

He twisted off the cap and took a long drink, reaching into his pocket to pull out his smokes. He was kind of surprised they were still in there after his damn flight, but pleased. He lit one up with the Zippo from his jeans pocket, and tucked both the packet and lighter away. Leaning back in the chair and propping up his crossed ankles on the low porch railing, he picked absentmindedly at the torn sleeves of his jacket with the hand holding the cigarette. Glad his angel wing vest was still intact, he finally turned to Merle, finding his brother staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah.. sleeves ripped.. shit, huh?” Daryl commented, more amused than pissed off. And he was, though maybe that was because he still felt the slight drunken effect of the cop – Rick's – blood in his system. Damn. He had to figure out what to do about all that, given he didn't think he was going to be very happy feeding on damn  _cows_  when such a delectable food source was just a leap or two – or a glide – across town.

“Fuck, baby brother..” Merle cursed, opening a beer of his own and sculling half the bottle in one go. Then he picked up the pipe sitting next to his chair, looked longingly at it for a moment, and put it back down. Clearly he had had enough for the night.

Daryl gave Merle a little smirk, thinking that if changing his form in front of Merle was a good way to get his brother off the dope, he might try to learn how to do it by command, instead of just weird subconscious decision of the damn leech.

 _Oh you had fun, don't deny it..._  Came the damn voice in his mind, and he huffed sharply through his nostrils.  _Fuck off! Leave me be!_

Merle was staring at him again, confused and slightly intrigued, though clearly slightly afraid that Daryl was losing his marbles.

“It talks to me..” Daryl mumbled, taking another swig of his beer. He nestled the bottle on his lap, flinching a little when the cold re-alerted him to the damp patch on his jeans from his rutting against Rick earlier.

Moving the bottle to a safer spot on his lap, gaze glued to it as he fidgeted, picking at the label and peeling it off slowly, Daryl tried to stay where he was. It was difficult to not just float away to the back of that bar with Rick.

“Talks to you? Like, telepathy or some shit?” Merle asked, blunt as a sledgehammer to the face. Daryl snorted.

“I dunno, bro. It's jus' like.. kinda in my head..” He shrugged – he didn't really know how to describe it. “It's like it's whisperin' to me,  _all_  the fucking time. Won' quit.  _Fucker_..”

Merle let out a low whistle, and as Daryl looked up the man gazed at his pipe once again. Daryl could see his brother's resole wavering.

“It made me change..” He said suddenly, trying to keep Merle from taking another hit. Merle looked back up at him again.

“Made you..?” Merle started.

“Yeah, bro. It was like.. I was jumpin'.. over the rooftops. It was pretty fun, gotta admit.” Daryl smirked again, and Merle even chuckled softly, though it was more in a 'this is insane' kind of way than a 'my baby brother had fun' kind of way. “Anyway, yeah. I was jumpin', and just before our house I took a big leap, an' I was all 'booyah', an' then before I knew it I had fuckin' spines growin' outta my elbows an' wrists an' then I had fuckin'  _wings_..”

Merle's blues homed in on Daryl's arms, like he couldn't believe what his brother was telling him, even if he had seen it for himself.

“C'mon, bro. Ya' gotta admit, it was fuckin'  _bad ass_.”

Merle chuckled. “Yeah, maybe a li'l bad ass... Scared the shit outta me though.. Thought I was seein' things.”

“Me too, bro. Me too,” Daryl nodded knowingly, as Merle rubbed at his eyes.

“Where did all tha' shit go then?” Merle asked, leaning over and prodding at Daryl's elbow, and Daryl swatted his brother's hand away.

“Not a fuckin' clue,” he replied, turning his arm to inspect his elbow as if he might see a slit in the skin where that fucking bone had come from. No dice. His flesh looked unmarred, well, as unmarred as it ever was, a few scars here and there from hunting incidents and past injuries from other mishaps.

“So where were you tonight'?” Merle asked, and Daryl couldn't help the twisted grin that turned up his lips as he looked back at his brother. “Aww hell don't tell me ya' went and sucked on that fuckin' cop again?” Merle whined.

“So what if I did?” Daryl snapped back, but he was still grinning, and he shrugged, tapping the ash off his cigarette onto the porch flooring.

“Baby brother, I do  _not_  wanna hear about you gettin' yer freak on with that guy..” Merle groaned, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes as though he had a mental image to get rid of.

“Hah!” Daryl barked in laughter, nestling into the deck chair, slouching more to relax. “May or may not have found him by the back of some fuckin' bar an'—“

“Nah nah tha's enough, thank ya', ya' li'l shit,” Merle interrupted him.

He chuckled, closing his eyes and basking in the memory of being pressed against the man with the pretty eyes that had been entirely blue, instead of subtly flecked with green like the previous night. He thought of how his own eyes changed with his blood lust, and wondered if the man had seen them.

“Only sucked his neck, not his  _dick_ ,” Daryl quickly whispered, and Merle actually placed his hands over his ears and shook his head, beer bottle now empty and on the floor with many others. Daryl just laughed, reveling in the easy if awkward chatting with his brother.

It was nice, even if it felt hollow. Though Merle had always  _tried_  to be a good big brother, he was also an intolerable asshole. Intolerant, too. For  _years_  Merle had given Daryl shit for being gay, tried to beat it out of him, shove women at him and scorn him for 'not being a real man' when he didn't immediately fuck them against the nearest wall.

Daryl had often tried to get away, tried to leave the toxic presence that was his homophobic, racist junkie of a brother. But whenever he  _had_  tried, Merle was all 'no baby brother, I love you, I need you, and you need me. We ain't got no other kin left, and that's what you and me need, our kin'. Or once or twice Merle had been high, drugged up so that he could barely stand, and he had clung to Daryl weeping about his wrongs and begging the younger to stay to help him. Though almost always, before long, he went back to his old ways.

It had been that way, all the way up until Daryl had turned, and all of a sudden he could return Merle's punches with his own, fighting back with strength and viciousness, and if he lost control, fangs sinking deep into flesh.

He had begun his transition just over six months ago.

But now the leech was getting stronger, talking to him,  _changing him_.

 _You relish it_.

_Fuck off._

_Without me, you would still be getting beaten to a bloody pulp by your kin. Just as your father did to you._

_FUCK OFF!_

Fuck. Now it was accessing his memories, too. Damn thing wouldn't quit. To get his mind off and away from the fucking invader off his back – and his mind – he turned to Merle to see if his brother had calmed down yet.

He had, mostly. He was still staring at his pipe, and Daryl wanted to get him the fuck out of that mindset again.

“Mighta dry humped him a bit though..” Daryl said after taking a long drag from his cigarette, resting his hand on his knee and looking over his shoulder at his brother.

Merle uttered a deep sigh, reaching into his own pockets for his cigarettes and lighting one up. He took a long drag, expelling the smoke in a perfect ring. He took a moment, as if steeling himself for the conversation.

“Oh yeah, and wha' did he think of that?” Merle asked drily, with a tactfulness and tolerance to which Daryl was still getting accustomed.

 _What? What did Rick—_ And then the ball dropped.

Daryl balked. He turned and stared at his feet resting on the porch railing, blood freezing in his veins.  _Fuck._

What did Rick think of what he had done, what he was doing?  _Shit_. It wasn't exactly as though he had asked, before practically vertically mounting the guy. The fear in Rick's eyes, as he'd approached, slinking like a wild animal, feral in his predatory moment.

He slid his legs off the porch railing, bracing them against the wood as he leaned his elbows on his knees. He glared at the scuffed wooden flooring, as though it had been the burn marks and dents that had pushed Rick against the wall against his will.

 _'S-stop!'_  Rick's desperate, panicked voice reverberated in his skull, bouncing around and spreading a poisonous seed of the most powerful guilt deep inside him.

 _Fuck_.

Daryl had.. He'd fucking  _raped_  Rick..

Sucking in oxygen and nicotine in sharp hisses, he replayed over what had happened, in his mind. He'd found Rick, found that scent that he remembered from the night before, followed the man to outside the bar, cornered him.  _Fuck_ , Daryl thought. He'd pushed Rick against the brick wall, nosing along the man's neck and just inhaling that sickly sweet aroma. No.. That wasn't right.. Was it?

He remembered staring at Rick, smoking his cigarette, commenting that the man looked beat. He hadn't known what he was going to do next, and then his body had acted with a mind of its own, or...  _No—!?_

_You wanted it.._

_I didn't want it like that!_

_What does it matter, you had him whimpering and moaning against you._ He _wanted it too.._

 _He thought I was fucking raping him! I_ was _fucking raping him! Because of_ you _!_

_He will want it again, just like you do.._

_I don't fucking want it like that!_

“Brother..?” Merle's unsure voice yanked Daryl out of his inner dialogue with the leech, and he turned to look at his brother, a snarl ripping from his throat involuntarily. Merle shrunk back, and even dropped his cigarette onto this lap, quickly swatting it away before it burned through his pants.

Daryl couldn't relax his face, twisted and warped again with his anger.  _Fuck_. Could he not control a single fucking aspect of his body anymore? He threw himself up from the deck chair, stomped down the porch stairs and began to pace across the dark yard.

He heard Merle clunking down the stairs after him, but didn't stop his pacing, treading a rough trail into the brown grass. He didn't even realise that he was still holding his half drunk beer bottle and cigarette, until his fingers stung as the cherry burnt between them.

“Fucking  _hell!_ ” He growled, flicking the butt away and inspecting the burn on his fingers in the dull porch light. Before his eyes, the wound mended itself, flesh evening out and skin covering back over, until there was not a single blemish on his hand.

“Tha's some weird shit, baby brother..” Merle muttered, and Daryl was reminded that he was even there at all.

Daryl huffed and turned, striding away from Merle. The house backed onto the woods, and he could see for miles between the trees in the dark.  _Rick crying out, asking – begging – for him to stop._  Daryl hissed from between gritted teeth and threw his arm back, before pelting the beer bottle through the air. It soared across the yard, over the fence and into the trees for a good two hundred yards before it smashed against the bark of a tree, startling a squirrel that scampered away through the brush.

“Li'l fucker.. should get my crossbow..” Daryl murmured, turning and continuing his pacing, glancing at Merle who was standing, gaping into the woods.

“Did ya.. did ya just nail a squirrel or something from two hundred yards..?” Merle asked, craning his neck to try to see through the dark that didn't impact Daryl's sight at all.

“Naw, jus' the tree..” Daryl replied shortly, pulling out his packet and lighting up another smoke. He drew deeply, hissing it out between gritted teeth.

“Wha's wrong, Daryl..?” Merle asked, reaching out to him, and he dodged the touch with quick reflexes.

“Don' wanna talk about it,  _Merle_ ,” Daryl growled, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Fine fine, baby brother..” Merle conceded, his hands raised defensibly.

When Merle gave him some space, Daryl began to relax slowly, the leech inside him soothing him with the phrase ' _it's in your nature now..'_  repeated over and over, and he allowed himself to be calmed, he believed the lie would make everything better, just for the peace of mind. And if he maybe kept himself from seeing Rick again...

“Ya know what?” Merle asked, still keeping his distance as he lit himself another cigarette, and Daryl felt like his own facial muscles were finally back to normal again, his fangs back into normal teeth.

“ _What_ , Merle?” Daryl grunted, halted in his pacing for a moment to hear what 'wonderful' piece of advice, or insight, or 'silver lining' his brother had in store.

The older Dixon walked over slowly, waiting to see if Daryl would push him away, and when that didn't happen, slung an arm over Daryl's shoulders.

“I think, that me an' you, need a li'l R & R, baby bro,” Merle said, squeezing Daryl's shoulder tight. “Let's go on a hunt, get us some game, and maybe a meal fer you that don't come with no angst. How's tha' sound?”

Daryl scoffed, and then realised one of the positives of being around Merle. When the older was actually being legitimately supportive, he went all the way. And it worked. Daryl took a drag of his smoke, exhaled, then turned to grin at his brother.

“Yeah, bro.. Sounds alrigh', I guess.” They hadn't been hunting together since Daryl had been.. 'infected'.. He'd missed it, if he was honest with himself.

“Aww ya sound so fuckin' excited!” Merle teased, and Daryl chuckled and shoved him away. “Let's go in the mornin', ay? Make a big day out of it! Hell, maybe a couple days, can have us a li'l competition, see who can bring back the most meat.” Merle nudged Daryl's side, and Daryl shook his head and moved further away.

“Yeah, cos I need that shit. Yer just usin' my  _abilities_  fer yer own devices,” Daryl accused as they walked back up to the house together, Merle respectfully keeping his distance a little better now.

“Well, if my baby bro's gotta be a fuckin' fanger, might's well take advantage of it. 'Sides, 'm sure yer just fuckin'  _antsy_  to show me up, righ'?” Merle challenged, and Daryl scoffed again.

“Yer gonna  _lose_ , bro, ya know that, righ'?” Daryl retorted, rising to the challenge with fervor.

“We'll see, bro, we'll see. Now get yerself to bed, an' I'll clean up this shit..” Merle spread his arms to indicate the empty beer bottles.

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, sure.. More like drink yerself into a stupor an' pass out on the porch an' wake up freezin' yer ass off.” He cast a guarded glance at the pipe on the floor, hoping  _that_  wasn't his brother's plan. He looked back up and met Merle's gaze, warning strong in his fiery blue, human eyes. He didn't need his face to morph to pass along  _that_  message.

Merle had the decency to look ashamed, stowed his pipe in the toolbox he kept on the porch for exactly that purpose, and followed Daryl inside. It wasn't that late, Daryl reasoned. It was just on 11pm, in fact an early night for the Dixon brothers. They normally liked to set out before the sun was up for a good long hunt, but they'd need to clean their weapons, prepare their meat storage, supplies – beer – and every other little thing they might need in the woods for an extended period of time. He figured it would be at least midday before they left.

 _We'll see,_  he thought as he prepared for a shower, finally peeling off his soiled jeans and underwear, a stab of memory of his transgression earlier in the night. He did his best to just shove away those thoughts, showered and changed, and put himself to bed.

 _Damn early night for a vampire is right_ , he thought with an amused chuckle at himself. Daryl Dixon, the friendly vampire, in bed before midnight, and occasional rapist...

The thought sobered him harder than being hit by a semi trailer, and after a good long while of wallowing in self-loathing, he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

_Rick, pressed against the wall, heaving under his touch. 'S-stop!' Rick cried out, and Daryl soothed him with false sweet promises. Not entirely false – they passed on Daryl's own personal, conscious intentions, but the leech inside him had other ideas. He had only wanted to feed on the man, take a simple taste of that glorious blood. But then the pleasure had swelled deep within him, churning in his belly, and the leech had taken hold, forcing his body against the man's._

_'S-stop!' It wasn't Rick's voice anymore, it was his, Daryl's, from so many years ago. That night when he was twenty-something – even he didn't remember anymore – and had snuck out to indulge himself, pick up some guy at a bar. It had been fine until they had been alone._

_'S-stop!' His voice echoed in his mind, crying out and trying to strike at the older man pinning him down. Rough hands on his body, mouth on his neck, unrelenting dick pressing against his thigh. 'Shhhhh... It'll be over soon..' the man's voice had tried to soothe him, and he'd begun to actually cry at that, tears lashing angrily over his cheeks as he punched and kicked whatever he could reach—_

Daryl woke with a start, head and heart pounding from his dream – his  _flashback_. That was  _years_  ago, damnit, he thought. Of course, it was no wonder it was of that night that he dreamed, after what he'd done earlier that evening.

Stomach churning with guilt  _monster_  he punched his pillow harder than was strictly necessary to make it more comfortable, as if it were that man's face.  _Rapist_  he plunged his face into the pillow, hands over the back of his head as he bit down on the side of his mouth, tasting blood that only tasted strange and  _wrong_ , not like Rick's—

 _NO._  He was fucking  _determined_ , he was never going to see Rick again. He'd fed from the man, taken advantage of him, brought them both to orgasm  _rapist_  and been asked to see him again.  _No._  He was no fucking monster.

_Yes you are.. It is in your nature.. Embrace it.._

He didn't even bother snapping back at the leech this time, just filled his mind with images of all sorts of game, in anticipation of what he and Merle had planned for the next day – few days, even. None of the mammals he pictured held any sort of hold for him anymore, and he wondered if blood would ever taste as sweet as it had earlier that night.

 _No._  He would strike his heart from his chest before he ever did that to anyone, ever again. He felt a twitch of concern from the leech, ignored it, and did his best to fall asleep, head, heart and dick twinging from the unwelcome thoughts of Rick that he couldn't keep away. That was what he would keep Rick: a memory. A fierce reminder of the animal, the  _monster_  that he had become.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update!! D8 I now have 4 freaking WIPs, and a bunch of other one-shots that I'm working on, as well as a much busier roleplay blog for my [Rick muse on tumblr](http://officergorgeous.tumblr.com). (Subtle promo lol).
> 
> Comments seem to help my muse, so there's that O.o"  
> (also -waves to Lucie- I heard you were anxiously awaiting this being updated. Hope I delivered the goods ^_^)
> 
> A quick reminder that I'm cherry-picking lore here, so no, if anyone was wondering, Daryl is NOT going to burst into flames stepping into the sun the next morning going hunting LOL. If anyone has questions about this vampire lore, hit me up, here or on my Rick blog! 8D
> 
> Next chapter has no ETA, as always, and will either be Daryl and Merle's hunting day, or Rick's next day. Haven't decided yet. Bear with me while I figure this out, and maybe check out my other Rickyl fics if you haven't already? Apparently they're pretty good ^//w//^;;

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this un-betad, barely proofread piece of work! ;/////;  
> The 'leech' is pulled directly from Brian Lumley's Necroscope series. His vampires make those of True Blood, Vampire Diaries, Interiew with a Vampire, Underworld, all of those vampires, look like playful kittens. I ain't kidding, or exaggerating. His vampires are best. Wamphyri, actually. BUUUUT as his vampires are completely bloodthirsty beasts, I decided to cherry pick at lore for my plot, and go with the Vegetarian Vampire as well, which is NOT only from Twilight, I assure you. I looked it up. Go look it up, I'll wait.  
> Anyway! Lemme know if y'all like it, or are looking forward to more, or are _not_ (and I'll try not to cry) and enjoy my slow-ass updating.. I'm kind of promising to post/update one thang each week, between my (now) three fics. Not sure when it will be the turn of each, but I'll try to keep it fairly even. At least it means my muse can be free~  
>  Also: this fic will **not** be a slow burn. Thank _fuuuuuck_! x'D


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